


Taste

by SlimeQueen



Series: One by One [3]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bruises, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love Bites, M/M, Making Out, Party, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, more gross boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 09:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14691221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimeQueen/pseuds/SlimeQueen
Summary: Donghyuck licks his kiss-swollen lips, dares to throw a grin Mark's way. As parties go, he'd deem this one a success.





	Taste

**Author's Note:**

> uhh i think this dumb series is just getting spicier and spicier as it goes on im sorry

Donghyuck’s already seeing stars by the time Jeno takes his cup away from him.

Not that it matters. It’s empty by now anyways, the last of the gasoline-and-clementine flavored liquid trailing fire down his throat and settling in the bottom of his stomach. He presses a curious hand there, wondering if he’s clammy because of the heat from the drink or because of the continuous brush of people around him.

Jeno shoots him a disapproving glare, and Donghyuck throws him back some choice words that would make Jaemin gasp and cover Jisung’s ears, were he here. But Donghyuck’s pretty sure he’s disappeared into the belly of the beast, among the swaying bodies of the dancefloor. Instead, Jisung gets to hear everything and laughs, loud and infectious, so Donghyuck throws his head back and laughs along with him.

Jisung’s been sticking close to him all night, wide eyed with shock at the amount of shots Donghyuck throws down unflinchingly. Now he latches onto Jeno, deeming Donghyuck too drunk to stay out of trouble.

Donghyuck pouts when Jeno shouts over the music, “Go do anything other than getting alcohol poisoning!”

Then, because the whole room’s swaying from side to side, he takes a deep breath, blinks until Jeno’s face comes back into focus.

“At least sit down so you don’t pass out while standing up,” Jeno reasons, and Donghyuck _hates_ when he makes sense.

When Jisung and Jeno take hold of his hands, he doesn’t protest, though, because they’re actually quite helpful when he can’t walk straight. They help him over to the couch in the corner, where there are some kids huddled around a table. From the center of the little crowd, Mark finishes rolling a joint and passes it to the kid to his left.

“He’s drunk!” Jisung hollers, giving Donghyuck’s arm a light shake.

Donghyuck glares at him indignantly, then yanks his arm back. Only, the force of the motion sends him stumbling sideways into Jeno’s broad chest. Jeno scoffs, pushes him gently towards the couch.

Somehow, Donghyuck manages to work his way through the throng of people and get to Mark. Unfortunately, there are people all around him, taking up the rest of the space. Donghyuck sighs, pets Mark’s hair like a dog, and unceremoniously drops down into his lap.

“I’m drunk!” he shouts into Mark’s ear.

Mark flinches back from the sudden noise, face scrunching up tight. Donghyuck thinks for the millionth time in his life that Mark is probably the cutest person he’s ever laid his eyes on.

“I can see that,” Mark says, leaning against the backrest of the couch, and Donghyuck scoots closer, tucking his face under Mark’s jaw, pressing his skin to the warm skin of his neck. “How much did you drink?”

“Uhhhh,” Donghyuck mumbles. Mark smells like weed and cologne- an altogether pleasant scent, to his intoxicated brain at least.

From the other side of the couch, the tiny kid from Mark’s Stats class says, “Hey Mark, can you roll again?”

Donghyuck glances around the little circle of people. The first joint’s still being passed back and forth, and he reaches a hand out for it. He takes a long hit, breathes it into his lungs, and puffs the smoke back out right in Mark’s face.

Mark pinches his stomach in retaliation, and Donghyuck groans, slaps his hand away.

“Sorry,” he tells the kid ( _Renjun_ , Donghyuck’s brain supplies helpfully. _Ah, so you’re still alive_ , Donghyuck tells it.) with an apologetic smile. “I’ve kind of got my arms full. Literally.” He glances down pointedly at Donghyuck, who’s wound around him like a cat. Donghyuck narrows his eyes at Renjun, then curls closer to Mark, arms wrapping around his neck.

The next time Mark turns his head, the tendon in his neck goes taut against his skin, and Donghyuck leans in, licks all the way up the line, tastes the tangy salt of sweat on his tongue.

“Go do that shit somewhere else,” someone calls from the circle of people.

“This is why no one can stand to be in the same room as the two of you for longer than three minutes,” another person says dryly.

Donghyuck wants to tell them to fuck off, but Mark’s already pulling away, gently nudging him. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

It’s a challenge for Donghyuck to get to his feet and stay that way, especially when the look Mark’s giving him is making his wobbly knees even weaker, but he finally manages to heave himself up.

Mark takes his hand, pulls him towards the less crowded parts of the house. Donghyuck can’t remember whose house it is anymore- Koeun, maybe? Or was it Hina?

He just remembers that they’re much better friends with Mark than him (most people are- Mark’s a social butterfly, now that he’s got a car and the basketball team) and that they’re only here at Mark and Jaemin’s insistence.

Mark leads him deeper into the house, and it becomes less sweaty, frantic bodies swaying to bass-boosted music, and more slow, grinding bodies and way too much tongue from too many people Donghyuck really did not want to see the tongues of. Ever.

“Can that Yukhei guy keep it in his pants for one day?” Donghyuck wonders out loud, only the words don’t articulate so well and come out slurred together.

Mark’s brows furrow together. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t understand that.”

Finally, they manage to stumble into an empty bedroom. It must be their host’s parents’ room, because the state of it is orderly and meticulous, from the wide bed to the perfect white carpet.

“Weren’t we supposed to stay out of their bedrooms?” Donghyuck asks, knees finally giving. He lets himself sink into the carpet, the walls of the room spinning slightly. He takes another deep breath, squeezing his eyes closed until he feels well enough to open them again. “Party etiquette and all that?”

Mark crouches down next to him, gives him a lazy smile. “I thought you were a rule breaker.”

“I thought you weren’t a pothead, but your eyes are pretty red right now.”

“I thought you weren’t an alcoholic, but you can’t seem to say a single word without slurring.”

Donghyuck looks up at him through his eyelashes. “I thought you brought me here to make out, but you’re all the way over there.”

Mark drops fully onto his knees, gathering him up in his arms. Donghyuck’s body feels languid, loose like liquid, pliant between Mark’s palms as he curls up on his lap again. Donghyuck’s head drops onto Mark’s shoulder, and he sighs quietly. “I wish I was less drunk right now.”

Mark’s fingers absently pet the base of his neck, then lower to the top of his spine, and back up again. “Why?” His voice is soft like a caress, and Donghyuck shivers.

Instead of answering, Donghyuck says, “Open your mouth.”

Mark’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, but he slowly pops his lips open. Immediately, Donghyuck leans forward, licks vertically across his lips and into his mouth.

“Does it taste like vodka?”

“You’re disgusting,” Mark says, licking his glistening lips, “and yes.”

Donghyuck frowns.  “I need to brush my teeth.” He makes to get up, but Mark tugs him back down.

“We’re still at Herin’s house, sweetheart.” The corner of Mark’s lip twitches as he holds back a smile. Donghyuck reaches a hand out and pokes the tip of his finger into the area, and Mark turns a tiny bit and bites his finger gently.

“Don’t call me that,” Donghyuck mumbles, his arms wrapping around Mark’s neck for balance. Mark’s hands are already wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer.

“Sweetheart?” Mark laughs softly, “Do you prefer being my baby?”

Donghyuck’s cheeks are flaming, and he says, “I prefer being your _shut up_.”

Mark gives him that same good-natured smile- the kind that Donghyuck hates more than anything because it never fails to make his insides melt right into his stomach. His fingers brush over Donghyuck’s overheated cheek, mercifully cool, and he strokes his knuckles back over the curve of his cheekbone. “I like the way you taste.”

Donghyuck wants to keep resisting just for the sake of continuing to tease. After all, half the fun is the game, but Mark’s lips are already pressing to his, pushing them apart for his tongue to sweep in.

Donghyuck tastes like vodka and orange juice and probably the bitterness of beer under that, but Mark’s totally sober (they’d forced it on him, deigning the responsibility of designated driver to him).

He wonders if his kissing ability is impaired by his inebriated state. Then he wonders if Mark even cares, because Mark’s licking eagerly into his mouth, hands slipping up the hem of his shirt to press flat to the small of his back. Donghyuck shudders under the touch, gasping as they tear apart. “Mark hyung,” Donghyuck whines, just once, before Mark tugs him back for more, kissing him until his already-spinning head is positively frenzied.

“Can I give you hickeys?” Mark asks all of a sudden, “God, your fucking _skin_. You’re so warm, I just want to leave bite marks all over you.”

Donghyuck’s come home with more than one hickey adorning his neck from Mark before, shuffling through the door and trying to conceal the bruises. Usually, it takes about five minutes before one of his brothers notice, and then maybe another three more for them to go tell his mother.

“Not where anyone can see,” Donghyuck compromises instead.

Mark’s mouth twists as he thinks. It makes Donghyuck want to kiss the expression off his lips, but he resists the urge.

“Your collarbone?” Mark says finally, eyes landing on the high neckline of Donghyuck’s shirt.

Donghyuck bites his lip. “Did you remember to lock the door?”

Mark nods eagerly, and Donghyuck sighs deeply, then reaches down for the hem of his shirt, throwing it over his head in one sharp motion.

Donghyuck gestures to the long length of his neck, then the delicate jut of his clavicles. “Do your worst.”

Mark presses a cool hand directly to the center of his chest, gently pushing the younger boy down flat against the carpet. It’s plush, soft on the skin of his bare back. “Ask me to,” Mark says then, and his lips curl into the slowest, most breathtaking smile Donghyuck’s ever seen.

“You’re repulsive,” Donghyuck says, turning away. He reaches a hand out blindly, grabbing for his shirt, but Mark pins his wrist down against the carpet. Suddenly, there’s a face only a couple centimeters from Donghyuck’s. Mark blows a tiny stream of cool air across his ruffled bangs. “Just kidding.”

He ducks down, warm, wet mouth latching onto Donghyuck’s collarbone, sucking the warm skin into his mouth, scraping it with his teeth, and Donghyuck hisses, twists under him.

Mark’s tongue runs over the tender spot then, as if to soothe, and he keeps going, biting and sucking his way across the straight line of Donghyuck’s collar, leaving a necklace of gentle bruises across his tan skin.

“What do I taste like now?” Donghyuck wonders, head thrown back, eyes glassy. One of his hands is thrown over his forehead, and the other is halfheartedly buried in Mark’s dark hair, the strands silky between his fingers.

“Sweat,” Mark grins up at him, “And I like it.”

“You’d like anything,” Donghyuck accuses. He pulls Mark’s hair sharply, and he whines.

Mark keeps leaving bruises along his lower neck and collarbone, across his shoulder, dissolving from purposeful bites to mindless openmouthed kissing that has Donghyuck panting for breath.

Mark’s mouth feels so good on his skin, warm and slow and soothing, and it leaves a cooling trail of saliva along his collarbones. Donghyuck tips his head back against the carpet again, eyes heavy. “Mark,” he murmurs. The vodka’s wearing off.

“Hyuck,” Mark mimics the tired drag of his voice perfectly, pulling back to examine his heavy-lidded eyes and languid movements. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I’m sleepy,” Donghyuck mumbles, eyes already falling shut.

Mark strokes some hair off his forehead, ducking down to press a kiss to the exposed skin. “Let me take you home.”

“Jeno,” Donghyuck protests, “and Jisung and Jaemin.”

“I’ll come back to get them after I drop you off,” Mark promises.

Satisfied with this, Donghyuck lets Mark pull him up to sitting, yawns enormously as Mark struggles to pull his shirt over his head. Eventually, he decides to help a bit and shoves his hand through the armhole because Mark’s having a difficult time trying to dress him.

Donghyuck makes Mark pull him up onto his feet as well, and he sways unsteadily from side to side for a minute as Mark smooths down his hair and tries to pretend he didn’t just spend half an hour kissing Donghyuck.

In the car, as he turns the heater up all the way and curls up in Mark’s passenger seat, Donghyuck sneaks a glance at Mark’s face in the inconsistent glare of the streetlights. “I love you,” he whispers, mind still muddled with drink and exhaustion.

It’s the first time he’s said those words, and they’re barely audible, lost over the blast of the heater and the sound of the wheels on pavement.

Mark turns to him, wide, beautiful eyes flitting over him for a second. “What?” he asks.

Donghyuck swallows down the words before he makes the same mistake twice. He wants it to be right. He wants Mark to understand. He wants to be sober, clear minded. So he takes them, tucks them away inside his mind for another day, when they’ll both be able to appreciate it more.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” he says instead. Mark takes his hand over the gear shift, gently rubbing his thumb against Donghyuck’s palm, then over his wrist, pressing to the delicate bones and tendons.

Neither of them have said it yet, but sometimes, at moments like this, with pavement flying under their headlights, the car silent except for the rumble of the heater, when Mark’s strong, cool fingers are grasped between his own, they know they don’t need the words.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/_johnten) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/slimequeen)


End file.
